What the Waves Brought
by gideondorf
Summary: Following the death of his father, a still mourning Belladonna and Bilbo take a much needed vacation. Bilbo, for all the things he can write, is stuck with a terrible case of writer's block, one he is desperate to escape. Thorin is burdened with royal duties, only desiring a break. An escape to the surface is risky, but ultimately goes along with the idea. Bagginshield mermaid AU


"Inspiration," his mother had said when she placed the pamphlet down on the table. "That's what you and I need."

Bilbo did not question her, just looked to the glossy paper in her hand. It showed a beach, blue waters, bright sand, and a boat in the distance. The sky was a light blue, the large text white. It was the picture of paradise.

"I've heard you at night, you know." She smirked. "I am quite sure that the entire neighborhood can."

"Mother-"

"Say what you will," she said, "but you cannot deny it. You have writer's block." Her hand rested on the table. Her eyes went to the book that Bilbo was reading. "It is really getting bad, is it not?"

Bilbo nodded. He usually did not read writing guides, preferring instead to dive in head on. It was just the way that he worked.

"I should have known." She set the pamphlet down, her eyes turning to the kitchen refrigerator. It was a mess, covered in tons of old papers. Ever since Bungo's passing, no one had been around to clean it. "Who forgot to change the calendar?"

Bilbo remained silent; his mother had told him before that some questions just were not worth answering.

It was always good to follow her advice.

Belladonna paced the kitchen floor, her eyes searching the place. "Pull out your phone or something. I need to know the date!"

"Mother, is something wrong?" Bilbo shot up from his chair.

"Could you just get your phone?"

Bilbo bit his lip, freezing in place for a moment. There had been a number of episodes like this before. Lately, they had started to slow, appearing less and less frequently. If his calculations were correct, it had been two weeks since he had last known that his mother had gotten so worked up like this.

What happened in private was her own business. If things worsened there, she would likely never say.

Bilbo pulled his phone from his pocket, his hands shaking slightly.

"June sixth," he said. "June sixth."

There was nothing special to the date, no anniversary or birthday. To them, it was just another day.

She gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sweetie."

Bilbo again picked up the flyer, flipping it open. "Yes, I think a vacation would be good for the two of us."

* * *

Bilbo had never been one for packing. Usually, they ended up bringing too much stuff anyway.

"Mom, could you help me fit some stuff into my suitcase?" He held his hand over it, struggling to keep the thing closed. "The thing just won't stay budged."

"I'll be there in a minute, dear!" she replied from downstairs.

It should have been done earlier; there was no possible way that he could deny that. Still, he had always found other things to do right before he got started on packing. Maybe if it were not such a bother...

He shook his head. Why was he getting so worked up? He was supposed to be happy.

His mother's footsteps echoed throughout their home as she ran upstairs. "How bad is it, Bilbo?"

"It could have been much worse!" Bilbo kept his hold on the suitcase.

His father had always helped him pack. If anyone in the family knew and could do anything about packing, it was him.

She raced inside of his room. "You're right, Bilbo." She smiled, a small smile, but a real one. "Well, at least your underwear didn't manage to end up on the ceiling this time. How did you manage to do that?"

Bilbo laughed. "That was years ago!"

"I'll never let you live it down." She walked over, placing a hand over the suitcase's lid. She looked down, then absently ran a finger over a sock. It stuck out from the edge of the suitcase, faded white. "Could you perhaps try to fold your clothes?"

* * *

The window opened with a slight creak. Fresh air ran inside the room, moonlight outlining the boxes on the floor. It had been years since Bilbo had been inside the attic, and it had hardly changed since he had last come inside.

When he was a boy, he had always avoided this room. His entire family had, preferring the basement and bottom two floors to this room. This was where the junk ended up, the things that could not be thrown away. Still, whenever his parents struggled to find some odd relative a birthday or holiday gift, they usually came up here.

He dusted off most of the things he saw.

"If you ever have trouble writing," his father had said, "then just go to the attic."

Bilbo could still remember the exact day that his father said that. It had been on October the Nineteenth of his freshman year of high school. He had been in a creative writing class, one of the teacher's favorite students, and he always turned his work in on time. Still, he struggled to think of what to do the night before a short story was due. His writer's block had been terrible then, and there was no chance that he could go to the beach.

He had taken to sitting down and reading, though he hardly noticed the story before him. His father seemed to have noticed his gloomy state, and had asked him what was wrong.

"I cannot think of what to write!"

To Bilbo, the son of two famous writers, it had been a shame to say that.

His father had only stared at him for a moment. "Well," he said eventually, "what do you want to write about?"

"I just told you," Bilbo said. "I do not know!" He dropped his book on his lap, forgetting it. "What if I fail this assignment, Dad?"

His father's face hardened. "Do not ever say that." His green eyes met Bilbo's own. "You can do this, Bilbo."

"But, Dad-"

"Go to the attic."

"What?"

"If you ever have trouble writing," his father said, "then just go to the attic."

"Why?" Bilbo's eyes went to the ceiling. "No one likes the attic."

"In most cases," Bungo responded, "no one goes up there. Bilbo, sometimes we have to do things we do not normally do when we have a problem."

"But why the attic?" The park was cleaner and brighter. A coffee shop always had something good for him to snack on. The library was a comfort. The attic was, well, the attic, and it was in no way associated with comforts.

"Write about something in the attic," his father said. He grabbed a pen from the kitchen counter, then pulled a small piece of crinkled yellow paper from his pocket. If there was anything that they lacked in Bilbo's house, it was never paper or something to write with. "Either you will get so bored about writing about your great uncle's old golf clubs that you will figure out something else to write about, or you will find something interesting enough to base a story around."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Bungo gave a firm nod. "Would I ever lie to you, Bilbo?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No, Dad."

"Then get to the attic." He patted Bilbo on the shoulder. "Just make sure to open a window first."

Bilbo sat down on a box, looking to the notebook in his hands. He had taken his father's words to heart.

"Now where are those old golf clubs?" His eyes searched the room, wondering if they had finally vanished over the years.

The attic was a collection of everything. There were old toys, ancient paintings, forgotten furniture, and anything else that had lost most sentimental value. Inside boxes were a whole collection of even more things, and not all of them were labelled. Bilbo easily could have accidentally opened up Pandora's box up there while looking for picture frames.

For the first time in a long time, it was easy for him to write. Rather than focusing on one item, he described everything. It was a strange way to spend the night before he and his mother left, but it was productive. Besides, it was better than worrying about the plane ride.

Some time later, once he had finally worn his hand out, he put the pen and notebook in his pocket.

The window was easy to close.

* * *

The house that his mother had rented for them was small, a white one story wooden home. Not that it mattered - they had come for the beach. Looking outside just about any window showed sandy shores, and that was all that mattered to either of them.

"You got all your things, right?" Bilbo's mother called. She dug around in her wallet, getting a tip for the taxi driver.

"Yes, mother!" They had decided to pack lightly, only the things that they would surely, surely need. Were it a few years before, they would have brought a number of books with them; thankfully, they now had e-readers.

He pulled the spare key from his pocket. His mother had given it to him in the taxi, advising him not to lose it.

The inside of the house was just like the photos that he had seen online. The house was old but kept together, though signs of past renters could clearly be seen. This was a place where people got away.

The wooden floor creaked slightly as he walked, almost as if the house was getting used to him.

His eyes searched the place, struggling to think of a possible story.

"You've probably heard this before," his father used to say, "but I will tell it to you again, Bilbo. Write about what you know." There was a twinkle in his eye when he spoke. "And if you do not know about something, then go learn. Open a book, get on Google, and travel if possible. There is never enough knowledge in the world. That is one of the reasons that I married your mother, with her I could always learn something new."

There were a total of five rooms. The front door led to a small, neat kitchen. The only regular sized appliance was the stove, everything else, from the fridge to the microwave, was small. There was a dark brown wood table to one corner with three matching colored chairs beside it. On the walls were pegs for pans.

His mother opened the door. "So what do you think?"

"I haven't seen much, Mom." He left the kitchen behind, walking into the small living room. There was a couch that could be folded out into a bed, though Bilbo doubted he or his mother would do anything but sit on it. There was a medium sized TV, the remote left on a coffee table. A few paintings hung on the wall, all of them depicting the ocean.

There were two bedrooms, both almost exactly alike. Other than a small nightstand and bed, both rooms were completely empty.

The last room was the bathroom, and all that mattered to Bilbo was that the toilet flushed and the shower had hot water.

* * *

She came with two glasses of lemonade in hand. "So what do you think, Bilbo?"

Bilbo took a glass. "I like it."

They had not been there for more than thirty minutes. There was unpacking to be done, though neither had bothered. It could be done later, once the sun set.

Belladonna took a deep breath. "Can you smell that salty air, Bilbo?"

"I would be surprised if I could not." The scent was thick, but also fresh and pure.

It was different, a vast difference from their home in the country, but certainly most welcome.

"What are your thoughts?" Bilbo took a sip of his lemonade. It had a little too much sugar in it, but nothing that Bilbo couldn't handle.

"I love it." Belladonna walked forward. "We should go feel the water."

"That sounds ridiculous," Bilbo responded.

She raised an eyebrow. "Now what is so wrong with that?"

"The water is probably cold!"

She rolled her eyes. "I was only going to put my feet in." She sighed, then placed her glass of lemonade down on a small glass table. "I am sure that it will be fine."

"Fine," Bilbo replied. "I'll go."

She grinned. "Then let's get going. We shouldn't waste any time while we're here."

"By the way," Bilbo said, stepping further onto the beach. The sand was warm beneath his toes, softer than even the grass back home. "How did you manage to find a house and book a flight so quickly?"

She smirked. "I have friends."

"Gandalf?"

"Who else could pull that many strings for me?" She gestured to the water. "Hurry up, Bilbo!"

Bilbo ran alongside her.

* * *

Dinner was at a seafood place two blocks away from the beach. They had served every kind of fish imaginable. For the longest time, neither Bilbo or Belladonna could decide what to eat. At a waitress's suggestion, they both ordered large sample trays, splitting it amongst themselves. The two got a little taste of everything, and they still had leftovers.

The real prize was the used bookstore across the street. It was tucked between an air brush studio and a dance club. For the time of night, it was almost completely empty. Both Bilbo and Belladonna had been awe struck at the place.

Used bookstores were good for local books, the kind of thing that Bilbo would never find back home. There was also always the chance that he could find a good book that was out of print, a rare gem in its own way.

He also ended up hearing a few local legends on accident. The words were between a worker and another tourist.

"So the people here actually believe in mermaids?" asked the tourist.

"Of course," replied the worker. "Most people would call them legends, superstition, but we know that they're true. I even saw one once."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. Yes, this place certainly had the chance of helping his imagination.

* * *

They were not the only ones to stay on the beach. The next morning, Bilbo and Belladonna were greeted by their neighbors, who were renting a place a bit further away along the beach.

"Hello," Bilbo said. "What are your names?"

There were three in total: two blonds and a red head. Two of them were children, one looking to be six or seven and the other four or five.

"Are these your children?" Belladonna asked.

"Yes," replied the blond man. He looked down to his children. "Why don't you answer that man's question?"

"Legolas," said the older looking blond boy. He had a clear face with large, bright blue eyes. He stood protectively by the girl beside him. "This is Tauriel."

Both of them held toy swords and bows in their hands.

"Are you two pirates?" Belladonna asked.

Tauriel shook her head, her red pigtails flying. "'Eroes."

"What?" Belladonna asked.

"Heroes," the man said. "Lately I've been reading to them about heroes before bed. If you ever have trouble, just come ask them for help; they would be glad to come save the day. My name is Thranduil."

"Belladonna," Bilbo's mother responded. She gestured to her son. "This is Bilbo."

"Your son," Thranduil responded, "I presume?"

She nodded.

"Do you have anyone else with you?"

She shook her head. "It's just he and I. What about you?"

"It is the same for us. All I have are the ones here."

"You have the spiders, Daddy!" Legolas said.

"Spiders?" Bilbo bit his lip. He was not deathly afraid of them, but he did not have much fondness for them either.

Thranduil chuckled. "We found a few spiders by our front door. Luckily, my two little heroes crushed them for me."

"That's good," Bilbo said. His eyes searched the area around them. Thankfully, no spiders were in sight.

* * *

It only seemed fair to his friends to buy a few souvenirs and postcards. They were all jealous of him.

Bilbo absently looked through a selection of seashells, unsure of what was worth buying and what was not.

"Do you need anything?" asked a teenage boy. He had a name tag that read "Bain" on it. "I can help you find anything you might need, sir."

Bilbo shook his head. "No, but thank you very much. I am just browsing."

"Okay," the boy responded. "Still, if you ever need help with anything, just ask me or my sister." He pointed to a girl standing at the other corner of the shop. "Our dad is usually in here with us, but he was busy getting supplies today."

Bilbo continued looking around. A few things had potential, but nothing truly called out to him.

"A shark tooth bracelet," Bilbo whispered, moving it through his fingers.

Now that was something that Lobelia would actually enjoy.

He paused to inspect it by a bin of stuffed toys shaped like sea animals. Hanging on the wall behind him were plastic dolls, either of mermaids or girls in swim suits.

"What are you looking at?"

Bilbo looked down.

"Tilda!" a voice said. Quickly, a girl ran over. "You were supposed to stay upstairs."

"But-"

"You know what Dad said." She sighed.

"But I want to help out at the shop!" She frowned.

"Tilda," the girl repeated. Absently, Bilbo eyed her name tag.

Sigrid, he thought, looking the girl over. She looked tired. His eyes again searched the store; it was surprising that there were not many others around.

"Excuse me," he said.

Sigrid turned around, keeping a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

"Do you have anything related to pirates?" He already knew the answer; there was a whole bin on the other side of the store.

"I know!" Tilda said. "Can I show him, Sigrid?"

"Tilda-"

"Oh, I'm fine with it."

The young girl grinned.

"Okay," Sigrid said. "I don't think that Dad would have a problem with this."

"Follow me," the girl said with delight.

* * *

"I found the treasure!" Tauriel yelled. She pulled her new hat off in delight, then threw it in the air.

"Where?" Legolas called.

Belladonna chuckled. "They are adorable."

Bilbo nodded.

"It was quite nice of you to get them those."

Bilbo simply nodded again.

"It reminds me of something that your father would do."

Bilbo looked back to the kids.

"Look!" Legolas called, pointing to the water. "I see a mermaid!"


End file.
